At This Juncture
by one half ounce
Summary: The unity of a young man and a young woman from opposing sides of the schism may very well be the solution to all of society's prejudices. Dumbledore proposes a plan to unite the world after the war. DMHG
1. Chapter One

AN: Well, it's been a few years. But here I am, with a new story and all. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!

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><p>CHAPTER ONE<p>

Dumbledore watched as Hermione Granger's parents gingerly situated themselves at a grimy old table near the door of Hog's Head. Feeling out of place in the shady pub, they left their coats on, speaking together in hushed tones as if raised voices would have them automatically thrown out.

And they were sensible to worry, especially so soon after the end of the war. The tension in the pub, though only inhabited at the moment by its few stray usuals, was thick enough to cast an ominous aura over its already dismal settings.

Dumbledore left his vigil at the bar, approaching the Grangers before the surly-looking headless monk sitting one table over could flip out at them for no reason. They were a handsome couple, Dumbledore noted as they spotted him and stood up to greet him. Evelyn Granger was a lovely woman of medium height with a soft figure and a face that was a more mature, slightly lined version of her daughter's. Brent Granger, on the other hand, cut an impressive figure looming over his wife, his face a stoic mask with dark, quizzical eyebrows set above equally dark brown eyes. He did not smile as he shook Dumbledore's hand, though his grip was enthusiastic and firm.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Professor Dumbledore," Mrs. Granger said warmly. "Hermione has told us so much about you and we are so thankful that you accepted our daughter into Hogwarts all those years ago... We are so very indebt to you, sir."

"Yes, quite," said Mr. Granger in a deep yet quiet voice not out of place with his general appearance. Dumbledore smiled vaguely, his eyes sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Aah, of course... It is likewise a pleasure to be meeting the parents of one of Hogwarts's greatest students," he said, neatly side-stepping the potentially awkward topic. "We are expecting another party, but I do believe our wait would be much more comfortable in a private room. It is not wise to linger by thresholds of shady pubs in these dark times," Dumbledore said gravely, despite the even merrier twinkle in his eyes.

So saying, he led the curious, though not at all surprised, Grangers down a side hall into a dimly lit private audience room. The chamber was furnished with a single square scrubbed wooden table surrounded by six chairs. The Grangers situated themselves on the far side of the table facing the door, shedding their coats as the room, though quite gloomy, began to warm from the crackling heat emitting from the large fireplace. Settled, they turned to Dumbledore expectantly.

"Please do make yourselves comfortable. I shall be back in a jiffy," said Dumbledore before promptly leaving the room with a swish of his magnificent midnight blue robes, their embroidered stars glittering in the rosy firelight.

Evelyn Granger looked at her husband, perplexed. He merely shook his head, his features once more set, though an expression of equal confusion present on his intense brow.

They spoke quietly while waiting for Dumbledore's return, discussing what could possibly be so important to merit a meeting with the esteemed headmaster. Upon receiving Dumbledore's owl the week previous, they had asked Hermione about it. Their daughter had not been aware of such proceedings, which left them further puzzled. Nevertheless, they had quickly replied to the headmaster's post, agreeing on the set date.

"You don't think th–" Brent Granger ventured before trailing off when Dumbledore, followed by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, reentered.

Brent stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. An odd, yet quite distinctive rush of animosity had pooled in his gut upon the sight of Lucius Malfoy. He had, to his memory, never seen this pale skinned, fair haired, distastefully haughty man before in his life, and yet immediately had felt disdain for him. Trying to dissipate his unfounded aggression, especially after a disapproving look from his wife, he schooled his dark expression to one of polite interest. It had not, however, escape the notice of Lucius Malfoy, who likewise had felt a sudden feral desire for violence when he had laid eyes on Brent Granger.

"And what, pray tell, is the objective of our meeting with..." Lucius paused delicately, as if searching for a polite word appropriate for the derogatory meaning he wished to employ. "These Muggles," he finished in his cold drawl.

"If you would be seated, Lucius, and you too Narcissa dear, I shall gladly tell you," Dumbledore replied evenly, gesturing towards the two empty seats opposite the Grangers.

Quite reluctantly, and with no deficiency of ill-disguised disgust, the Malfoys complied and situated themselves on the straight-backed wooden chairs facing the Grangers.

Dumbledore commenced the introductions. "Brent, Evelyn, meet Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Lucius, Narcissa, meet Mr. and Mrs. Granger. As you surely are aware already, you're children, Draco and Hermione, attend Hogwarts together."

There was recognition on the Grangers' faces upon hearing the Malfoy name, for they had heard it many a time when Hermione had written or ranted to them. Brent could not hide his contempt for the other party.

Dumbledore paused, standing behind the lone chair of the third side of the square table, gazing over his half-moon spectacles at the two polar opposite couples seated before him. Evelyn and Narcissa were looking at him intently, though their husbands were not. Rather, Lucius Malfoy and Brent Granger were engaged in quite the staring contest. They glared at each other from across the table, both willing his gaze to spontaneously produce daggers with which to stab the other violently. Such was the intensity of the animosity in the room, which, despite being entirely unfounded, was quite palpable, and served as a rather noisy and obese elephant harrumphing in the room.

Dumbledore seated himself.

"You must all be wondering why I have gathered you here today," continued the wizened headmaster, as if there were no awkwardness weighing down the atmosphere. The two men finally broke their gazes and turned their attentions to the matter which had puzzled them ever since they had gotten Dumbledore's owl.

"It is to discuss the peace movement, which, as you know, we have been committed to since the end of the war, and your respective children, the fates of which are implicitly intertwined."

Dumbledore's gaze passed from one side of the table to the other, studying the two couples intently. Within this brief pause, he had evaluated the state of mind of the four seated before him and decided to proceed as planned.

"The war has taken its toll on the entire world, wizarding and nonmagical alike. Peace is... difficult to achieve after any such war. As you know, Voldemort–"

Narcissa shuddered slightly at the name.

"–is dead, as is his cause. There are those of his remaining supporters who still refuse to accept that their leader has been vanquished."

Lucius made a disgruntled noise, as if wanting to interrupt.

Dumbledore plowed on. "It seems as if they are... waiting for a sign; they are not willing to completely abandon the cause until they get the 'go-ahead,' so to speak, from someone of prominence."

A shred of understanding crept its way onto Lucius's features, though did not completely solidify. It was as if his brow was waiting for a single extra piece of information to clear its confusion lines.

"Society is fragile at the moment–"

Both Narcissa and Lucius raised their eyebrows at this. Even Evelyn and Brent managed to roll their eyes; they knew from Hermione that the wizarding community at the moment was quite obviously still shaken from the war.

"It is my belief," continued Dumbledore delicately, "that if some sort of exemplar were made to show unity between the two factions, society would follow suit, and peace could eventually be found."

"The unity of a young man and a young woman from opposing sides of the schism may very well be the solution to all of society's prejudices." Dumbledore paused once more, the gravity of what he was about to say hanging thickly in the air.

The Grangers stared blankly at the headmaster, not quite understanding what he was getting at. On the other end of the table, realization suddenly dawned on Lucius, but before he could open his mouth, Dumbledore continued.

"Say, if a recent supporter of Voldemort were to wed an adamant anti-Voldemort advocate–"

Lucius could not continue his silence any longer. "Now see here, Dumbledore, if you are suggesting that _my_ son marry the daughter of mere–"

The Grangers looked startled at the mention of marriage. As he began to understand the significance of Dumbledore's words and the disgust behind Lucius's, Brent could not help his outrage, though he still did not quite comprehend the entire meaning of Dumbledore's vague speech.

"Please, Lucius," Dumbledore cut in, quiet and solemn as ever, "if you would kindly humor an old man." His blue eyes twinkled yet.

"It is my belief that if Draco Malfoy, the son of a previous well-known Death Eater, and Hermione Granger, the Muggleborn best friend to Harry Potter, were to wed–"

"_Wed?_" It was Brent this time that jumped up, although Lucius and Narcissa were close seconds; their protests, however, were drowned out by Brent's singularly angry voice. "You cannot possibly think that I would allow my daughter to marry the boy who has tormented her all through her childhood!" Brent made to continue, but Evelyn laid her hand upon his arm placatingly, willing him to reseat himself.

"Let him finish, Brent," she commanded quietly. And he, although loath to complied, did.

"If they were to marry," Dumbledore continued, his gaze silencing all other protests from Lucius or Narcissa, "society would follow suit; blood prejudices would be put aside in light of this new union, people would be encouraged to befriend the other side..."

"People could finally move on from this devastating war," the wizened old wizard finished.

There was utter silence in the room for one millisecond while its inhabitants processed Dumbledore's words, weighing them in their minds ounce by ounce.

It was Evelyn who broke the silence. "Hermione shall not marry him," she said simply. "I will not have my daughter entering a loveless marriage."

This brought a sneer to Lucius's face, but since he was in agreement with the object of his scorn, he did not protest.

"And _Draco_ shall not marry _her_. He is intended for a pureblood marriage, one that will not... compromise... our family tree." Though Lucius had not used the word "taint" as he would have under previous circumstances (i.e. when the Dark Lord still instilled fear in the hearts of all mortals), Brent heard the obvious undertone. He stood up again, though calmly this time.

"If you are implying that our daughter is not worthy to marry your son, you are sorely mistaken. She is every bit an equal to him. No, she is far more superior, because she was raised to disregard such paltry things as blood status... But I cannot blame a boy for his faulty upbringing."

The blow was delivered and BAM, Lucius was up on his feet, his chair clattering loudly to the floor. He made to lunge at Brent, but Narcissa held him back, despite her being just as incensed at Brent's insult.

"_How dare you, you filthy –_" he began, but before he could finish, Evelyn, too, stood up.

"Don't you dare speak to my husband like that!" she said, well, almost yelled. It was the first time that she had raised her voice, and one could see where Hermione got her temper from (except obviously her father... but it was a different kind of fire she got from him). "Who are you to judge us, to make snap decisions that we are inferior to you? We are only strangers to you, and you to us."

Dumbledore cut in. "Please, Evelyn, Narcissa, Lucius, Brent. Be seated."

They reseated themselves, but were far from silent. Their continued protestations rung out in the increasingly noisy room.

"It's quite unfair to both the children!"

"Why _Hermione_?" and similarly, "Why must it be Draco? There are plenty of other pureblooded boys..."

"This would pressure them into something they both do not desire!"

"How can you expect us to force our own flesh and blood to marry the person they most despise? It would be the grossest hypocrisy!"

"What you are suggesting is _preposterous_ –"

"No," Dumbledore's voice was commanding, final. Never had he ever seemed so very serious – almost angry. "What I am proposing is an end to the turmoil that is ripping our world apart."

Both parties sat mutinously but had the sense to remain silent. An ultimate quiet reigned over the chamber. Even the flames in the grate seemed to wisely mute their crackling.

Finally, Dumbledore said, "Please, think about it," and with the twinkle back in his eyes, "Humor an old man and his wild ideas; they may just happen to succeed."

Brent was the first to speak. "We will speak with our daughter, but if she refuses, you cannot expect us to coerce her."

Evelyn nodded her agreement, while Narcissa and Lucius voiced similar sentiments about their son.

Dumbledore stood with a sweep of his glimmering robes, the scrape of his chair on the wooden floor resounding in the tense atmosphere.

"Then it is settled. Thank you all for coming today," he murmured, shaking hands with the four anxious parents. And with eyes a-twinkling, Dumbledore said, "Perhaps soon we shall meet again at the wedding of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy."


	2. Chapter Two

AN: It's been a while hasn't it? I apologize. But please enjoy this rare update. I think there should be more to come very soon. Reviews are always cherished and muchly appreciated.

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><p>CHAPTER TWO<p>

Somewhere in middleclass London, Hermione Granger sneezed in her sleep. Once, twice, then a third time in the same hour. Perhaps it was simply the effect of the residual dust in her room (but how could it? Her mother was always so meticulous in the upkeep of her household), with which she had only just been reunited when she came home for the winter holidays. Or perhaps there was a stray fly that had decided to venture into the dark void of her left nostril. Or perhaps it was because, somewhere, in a land far, far away, someone was speaking ill of her.

Nevertheless, she slept on.

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><p>Draco Malfoy sighed. And tossed. And turned. And huffed some more because for the life of him he couldn't stop thinking over what he had just overheard his parents discussing in hushed tones in the drawing room enough to drift off to sleep (and oblivion, though he was sure sleep, too, would be invaded by the current thought bunnies that were happily munching away at his brains).<p>

After a rather awkward dinner with his parents, full of stilted conversation and significant glances between the two – which Draco had attributed to a lovers' tiff (the Malfoy couple had them often, which served to reignite their marriage when they made up) and ignored – they had gone through to the drawing room, where still awkwardly they had lazed about, drinking coffee and chatting idly (awkwardly) about this and that – nothing too out of the ordinary. Yet Lucius had seemed most distracted, nearly as much as he had been in the days where all his time had been occupied with fulfilling the Dark Lord's latest requests, and his responses to his wife had not held the usual angry disdain with which he would have addressed her had they actually had an argument. When Narcissa had gotten around to the prerequisite topic of Draco's marriage – or lack thereof – Lucius's head had snapped up from the thick (and dull) volume (goblin politics) he was reading and the look he had given his wife had been so warningly panicked that Draco could no longer ignore the strange tension that he had been sensing in both his parents.

Upon his asking them what was wrong, Narcissa had shrugged it off and told him to go to bed. "It's late, darling, we should all retire for the night," she had said, feigning a yawn delicately. So Draco, taking the not-so-subtle request for him to leave mommy and daddy alone to discuss big people things, had grudgingly left and headed to his own chambers.

Urgent whispers started as soon as he'd shut the door behind him, and at the mention of his name, curiosity had taken hold of him like it would a cute little kitten and he had dawdled by the door to listen. The hushed voices had become more voluble as soon as their owners thought Draco was far enough away not to be able to make them out.

_"-sooner or later. We should allow him to dispute this request if he wished," came his mother's voice._

_"It wouldn't be necessary to tell him if we made it go away first," his father's angry tones projected. "To defile our bloodline with that of that Mudblood girl – all for the sake of 'peace,' as Dumbledore put it. I doubt that _he _would subject his own son to such humiliation."_

_Behind the door, Draco grimaced at his father's choice of words. He had never enjoyed or approved of calling anyone – regardless of his or her lineage – that rather foul epithet. He could count on his two hands the occasions which he had disdainfully applied that term, and he had only done so to maintain his family's "reputation" as cold, cruel, and ruthless._

_"As Dumbledore does not, in fact, have any offspring, that argument would be moot," Narcissa responded placidly._

_Lucius continued in an agitated vein. "We must think of an alternative candidate for that Granger girl-"_

_Draco started at this, the rush of blood to his brain urging him to push past the door and demand what was going on. It was only the desire to glean more information before he confronted them that stayed his rashness. With his forehead pressed painfully against the cool varnish of the walnut door, he counted slowly to ten, his breathes shallow and loud. Fortunately for him, the Malfoy couple beyond was too focused with their own discussion that they did not quite notice their son's gasping for dearly needed air on the other side of the door._

"…_successfully divert Dumbledore's attention from Draco. Or surely there must be a pureblooded girl on their side, a proper match for our son."_

_"Indeed. But we speak of Dumbledore, and you and I both know that his decisions are – in his mind – final." She paused. "He chose Draco."_

_Even from a whole drawing room and thick walnut door away, Draco could hear the gravity in her voice. Lucius said nothing._

_"He chose Draco," Narcissa repeated, "and with good reason – Draco is a prominent figure among those of the 'dark side,' and while the other side has many as well, there are none of our females to match... As far as Dumbledore is concerned, Draco and Hermione Granger are the perfect couple to figurehead his peace movement."_

_"This marriage would be absurd! We would be made a laughingstock among our own. How can you sit there preaching Dumbledore's rationalizations while the marital fate of our only son lies in jeopardy?"_

_"I am just as much appalled by this prospect as you are, Lucius. But think of it; as gross as the idea may seem, we could redeem ourselves – redeem the Malfoy name. You said to me yourself, at the end of the first war, that it's times like these when families like ours must placate the other side in order to survive. They don't seem like they'll be easing off any time soon, Lucius. We can't continue our hiding and skirting of a society that despises the very existence of families like ours, even when we have tried time and time again to assimilate ourselves to the newly accepted 'doctrines.' Draco's marriage to this Granger girl would prove our loyalty, and all past offenses would be pardoned." She laughed ruefully. "It would be the marriage of the century!"_

_There was a pause, swift and punctuated, as would have been the unwilling smile on Lucius's lips elicited by his wife's last comment. Draco certainly smiled. His mother always had an ironic sense of humor, one that both he and his father enjoyed – even contributed to – in most circumstances._

_"But our _son_, Narcissa, our _son_! Regardless of the atrocities such a marriage would entail, you would be willing to sacrifice our son's happiness by forcing him into a gross and outrageous marriage – like that Muggle woman said: a 'loveless marriage'?"_

_"We both know that Draco would never have found love in any kind of marriage we could have provided him, regardless of Dumbledore's demand."_

_Lucius seemed to scoff at this. Though he could not see his father, Draco was sure he was giving his mother a look that said plainly "but have not _we_ found love in _our_ marriage?"_

_"I cannot believe this. My own wife, the mother of my only son and heir, willing to allow such a _barbarity_ to transpire."_

_"Would that these circumstances did not exist. But they do, Lucius, and we must, as they say, 'roll with it'. Even if we were to concoct another plan with which to tempt Dumbledore, I do not believe he could be persuaded otherwise."_

_Silence, heavy and full, in which perhaps Lucius settled finally next to his wife on the settee where she was situated – then, "I suppose you have reason. But Narcissa, know that I shall protest this as long as I can, even if it is to no avail."_

_And then softly, from his counterpart, "I, too. But eventually, husband, we must resign ourselves to this fate."_

Shuffling from beyond the door signaling the couple's retiring from the room had Draco fleeing to the safety of his bedroom, where his parents could not catch him eavesdropping and where they could not comment on the rather blanched complexion of his face which had drained completely (as much as a face could) of blood (blue) upon hearing of his pending nuptials to Hermione f-ing Granger. He could only lock the door shut, prepare for bed, and fling himself onto his massive four-poster by rote.

And there he lay, unable to think of anything but his parents' words, which echoed vexingly through his brain even long after his body had switch to sleep mode.

The thought bunnies feasted.


End file.
